


Past Returning

by Telaryn



Series: The Tale of Eliot Spencer and Ellen Harvelle [4]
Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Hostage Situation, Insomnia, Kidnapping, Protectiveness, Relationship Advice, Scars, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Eliot's enemies tries to strike at him through Ellen.  While trying to react to Ellen's abduction, the truth of Eliot's past is revealed to her closest family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past Returning

  
“Time to go, Cowboy.”

Eliot looked up from the shingle he’d been nailing in place on the roof of Ellen’s house, confused by her announcement. “It’s that late?”

“Three thirty,” she said, leaning on the top railing of the ladder he and Dean had tied off to the edge of the roof. Eliot couldn’t help noticing how the position she’d taken accentuated her ample cleavage. Ellen allowed the ogling for a moment, and then cleared her throat. “Eyes, handsome.” She was smiling when his attention slipped up to her face again, but Eliot felt his cheeks grow warm anyway.

“And if you know what’s good for you,” she added, pitching her voice so Dean could hear, “you’ll keep that mouth of yours shut, boy.”

Eliot glanced over just in time to see Dean duck his head – barely hiding his smirk. “Not a word, ma’am. I promise.”

“Tarp it off,” Ellen said, when he looked back at her. “I can help you finish it up in the morning.” She’d begged off of the bulk of the day’s repair work, taking advantage of Sam and Dean being in town to catch up on her bookkeeping.

Eliot considered her offer, but all the credible reports said there was a lot of rain heading their way in the next twenty-four hours. “We’ll be right behind you,” he said, leaning over towards the ladder and kissing her. “No more than an hour – I promise. If I don’t have it by then, it’ll be too dark to see anyway.”

Sam decided to ride with Ellen. Dean and Eliot continued working, hammering asphalt shingles into place over the fresh tar paper and plywood they’d laid down earlier in the day. Finishing the repairs took a little more than the hour Eliot had estimated, but by the time the last nail was driven, he was sure the house could withstand any thunderstorm waiting over the horizon.

“Appreciate the help,” he said, when Dean carried his tools over to the bucket they’d used for hauling supplies up from the ground.

The older of the two Winchester brothers shrugged. “No problem. Nice to do something normal to help out for a change.”

Eliot chuckled, appreciating the irony of Dean’s statement. “I hear that.” Dumping his own tools in the five gallon paint bucket, Eliot checked the rope they’d tied to the handle. “Jo told me last time she was home that Ellen’s had that pail in the corner of the living room for three months.”

“She should have said something sooner,” Dean said. “Sam and I would have taken care of it for her.”

Hooking one leg around the ladder, Eliot slowly lowered the tool bucket over the edge of the roof and down to the ground. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, Dean,” he said – keeping most of his attention on the progress of the tools, “but that lady’s not real big on asking people for help.”

Dean snorted softly. “Yeah, I noticed.” They were quiet for a moment until the bucket thumped safely on the ground.

“Let’s get out of here,” Eliot said, glancing up at Dean. It took the two of them another handful of time to get off the roof, unsecure the ladder and put it away. Eliot double checked the doors of the house to make sure Ellen had locked up.

By the time they were heading for the Impala, Dean’s cell phone was ringing.  
*********  
If Dean Winchester had any lingering doubts about Eliot’s feelings for Ellen Harvelle, the ten minute drive to the Roadhouse following Sam’s call dispelled them forever. “Sam said she was okay when they took her,” he repeated. “That’s something, right?”

Eliot’s fingers flexed against the Impala’s dashboard; Dean could feel the tension vibrating along every line of his body. “They know what I’ll do if she’s hurt,” Spencer growled. In anyone else, the phrase would have sounded like overly emotional posturing. Eliot was deadly serious – and Dean believed him.

 _”What do we really know about the guy?”_ It was a conversation he and Sam hadn’t had in months, and Sam had chosen tonight to bring it up again. _Sam’s sure she was taken because of something Eliot’s done._ Dean didn’t want to believe the worst of the man sitting next to him. He wanted to believe that what he and Sam had seen between the two of them was real – that any of them stuck in this life could find the kind of connection Eliot and Ellen seemed to have.

The “CLOSED” sign was still up on the front door – the bar typically opened at five on Sundays, which meant they had no more than ten minutes before the regular crowd started filling up the parking lot. Eliot didn’t bother pounding on the door to get the attention of whoever was still inside; by the time Dean parked the car and joined him, Eliot had the front door unlocked and was already moving across the threshold.

Hard on his heels, Dean had a split second to take in the scene before Ash – of all people – launched himself at Eliot with a strangled cry of rage. Before Dean could fully register that the bar’s resident hacker was _attacking_ Eliot, his companion had grabbed Ash by the wrist, spun him, and put him face down over a nearby table – his arm twisted up behind his back.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed – stunned by the speed with which Spencer had responded and the training he’d used to stop Ash without hurting him.

Sam had taken a step towards the two men, but paused when he realized Eliot wasn’t intending to harm Ash. Eliot’s shoulder length hair fell around his face as he leaned close to Ash’s ear and spoke to him in a voice too low for any of the rest of them to hear. Satisfied there wasn’t going to be bloodshed yet, Dean crossed the floor until he was standing next to Sam. “What the hell happened?”

There was genuine anger in Sam’s hazel eyes as he watched Eliot, who was in the process of letting Ash go and stepping back. “Sam,” Dean repeated. “He’s not going to hurt him. Talk to me. What happened?”

Sam shuddered, but finally managed to tear his attention away from Eliot long enough to pay attention to Dean. “Three guys,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Automatic weapons, looked like major military training. We never stood a chance.”

Dean realized with a start that what his brain had initially taken to be a shadow on Sam’s jawline was in fact a rapidly purpling bruise. “You all right?” he asked sharply.

“I’m fine,” Sam said. He flinched away when Dean reached up to check for himself. “Dean, Ash showed me his files on this guy. We fucked up by letting him stick around. He is bad news.”

“Jesus,” Dean breathed. And now Ellen was going to pay the price.  
*************  
They were all looking at him now, but Eliot’s only thought once he’d successfully calmed Ash down was for Ellen. _Marks._ Ash had been very clear on the name, which meant they only had a limited amount of time to get organized before a phone would ring.

And Ash had also been very clear on who currently had possession of that phone. “Hand it over.”

Eliot wasn’t surprised to see the near-matching expressions of distrust on the brothers’ faces as he approached. “Don’t push me, Sam,” he said, keeping his focus on the younger Winchester. “I know who did this, which means they left a cell phone behind. Give it to me.” He held out his hand, trying to remain calm.

“Eliot,” Dean said, “maybe you’d better let somebody else handle this.”

 _They knew. They all knew._ He wasn’t surprised Ash had gone digging into his background – Eliot had been around long enough to understand that was the way of the computer nerd. But in his hysterics following the attack and Ellen’s abduction, he had blabbed what he knew to everyone in earshot. And in the few precious minutes it had taken Eliot to neutralize Ash, Sam had filled in Dean.

“This is what I do, Dean,” Eliot said calmly, still looking at Sam. “I’m the only chance we have of getting Ellen back safe.”

“Way I see it,” Sam said, “you’re the only reason she was taken in the first place.”

Eliot smiled, but it was a frozen parody of his usual easy-going grin. “You don’t want to throw down with me, Sam. There’s a _lot_ of redacted intel in those files Ash dug up. If you don’t hand me that phone, I’m going to show you _why_ people don’t talk about what I’ve done.” They were words he couldn’t walk away from, but Eliot knew he would do much, much worse if it meant getting Ellen back safely.

Before Sam or Dean could say anything else, a shrill, unfamiliar ringtone split the silence. Sam reached into his pocket a split second before Eliot moved into action. Before either of the brothers could react, Sam was on the floor and Eliot was answering the phone. “Spencer,” he said, warning Dean back with a glance.

“The man himself. This is working better than I’d planned.”

 _Anton Marks._ Hearing his voice, Eliot could picture the man again: cold, Scandinavian features, mildly charming, utterly ruthless in his dealings with people. “You fucked up, Anton,” he said. “Went some place you shouldn’t.”

“I am crying all the tears, my friend,” Marks countered. “Do you want your proof of life or not? One question – so make it a good one.”

Eliot absent-mindedly ran a hand through his hair – his mind racing for a question that only Ellen would know the answer to. He hated this particular form of verifying a victim’s status – even though it was considered to be the most efficient way of doing things, it robbed him of picking up any extra potential clues about what was really going on.

“What was the first thing she ever said to me?” It was perfect – impossible to guess for anyone who wasn’t there, and something he and Ellen had often laughed about. Eliot listened as the question was repeated for someone. A moment later, Marks said the correct words into his ear.

“We gonna have a problem?”

Eliot smiled in spite of himself, remembering looking up at Ellen over the barrel of her shotgun – which she was holding on two of the Roadhouse’s regular customers at the time. _”Only if you point that gun in my direction,”_ had been his response. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep, shuddering breath and forcing himself back on task. “You know what I want, Marks. I’ve got a pretty good idea what you want. When and where?”  
*************  
Dean watched as Eliot finished his call and strode over to the Roadhouse bar. Maddie – the red-haired waitress who was Ellen’s chief assistant when Jo wasn’t around immediately got him a beer; nodding his thanks at her, Eliot upended the bottle and drained nearly half the contents in one swallow. “Sam, I don’t think we’ve got all the facts,” Dean said quietly. “Not by a long shot.”

His brother snorted. “My ass says otherwise. You didn’t read his file, Dean – that guy Marks took Ellen because of what she means to Eliot. No other reason.”

Ash chose that moment to join them – periodically casting nervous glances over his shoulder at Eliot. “We’re not gonna let Rambo there run the show, are we? What’s the plan, boys?”

“Ash, why the hell didn’t you tell Ellen what was in those files you dug up?” Dean asked, suddenly furious with the hacker and his oddball ways. _If he’d just spoken up in time!_

“I did!” Ash spat, uncharacteristically angry. “Dude, who do you think ordered the background check on Rambo in the first place? He hadn’t been in her house two days when she sent me sniffin’ around.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said, clearly as surprised as Dean felt by this twist of events. “You’re telling me Ellen’s already seen everything you showed me? She knows?”

“Yes, dude!” Ash said. “She even told me to keep it quiet, not to tell anyone else what I’d found.”

“Not even Jo?” Sam asked. Now it was Dean’s turn to snort.

“Especially not Jo!” Ash confirmed. “Sam, man – she said she’d handle it. I swear to you if I’d known…”

Before either of them could say another word, Dean stalked off, heading for the bar and Eliot. “Maddie,” he called to the redhead, “Corona please, sweetheart.”

The bottle was open and waiting for him by the time he reached his stool. “Shut up,” he said to Eliot, as he picked up the beer and drank a healthy swig of his own. “I already know you’re a beer snob.”

Eliot snorted softly. “You think that’s beer, huh?”

The two of them sat in relative silence, not looking at each other – just quietly finishing their respectively bottles. Finally Dean set his down with an explosive sigh. “You’re scarin’ the crap out of everybody in here – you know that, right?”

Eliot swallowed the last of his alcohol, then turned towards Dean. “That include you?”

Dean considered and discarded half a dozen answers, before settling on simple truth. “Hell yes.” He swiveled on his stool so they were squared off with each other. “I don’t know every type of training you’ve had,” he admitted, “but I can guess a lot of it just based on what you did to Ash and Sam. It makes you one of the scariest human beings I’ve ever met – and given how close you are to Ellen and Jo right now, I have to tell you Eliot, that I’m not sure I’m okay with any of this.”

He did his best not to break eye contact as the other man studied him for an impossibly long moment. Finally Spencer’s expression softened slightly. “Do you believe I’m going to get her back?”

“Yes,” Dean said, without hesitation. “Because I’ve seen you two together, and I know you’re not going to fail her.”  
************  
It was a simple declaration, said with such unshakeable conviction, that it almost undid every last drop of Eliot’s self-control. _I know you’re not going to fail her._ Eliot had gotten very good at walling off his emotions over the years; it was either that or go crazy in the life he’d carved out for himself. Ellen was unraveling that; the longer he stayed with her, the sloppier he was getting about keeping everything firmly in check.

“I’m going to need you for this,” he said finally, making his decision and moving forward. “And Sam, if you think he can follow orders.”

Dean’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I’ll talk to him. As long as it improves Ellen’s chances of coming home in one piece, he’ll put up with a lot.” He started to get down again, but Eliot grabbed his arm.

“Dean,” he said, “Marks doesn’t like to leave witnesses. You understand what I’m saying?”

“We’ll get her out,” Dean said. “No matter what it takes, Eliot. I give you my word.”

Eliot sighed. “Good. Get everybody together – we’ve only got about fifteen minutes to come up with a workable extraction.”

He watched Dean go speak to Sam and Ash, wondering if Dean really understood what was at stake. Once Ellen realized Eliot was trading himself for her freedom, the brothers' biggest hurdle in getting her away from her kidnappers was likely to be Ellen herself.


	2. Past Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the events of "Past Returning", Ellen has a heart to heart with the Winchesters. Truths are told, and Dean leaves her with something important to think about.

_”I don’t need somebody in my life who’s willing to die for me, Cowboy. If you’re going to do anything for me, I want you to be willing to live.”_

Ellen stayed with Eliot until the painkillers kicked in, and he was safely asleep. He’d been badly injured in the aftermath of her kidnapping – Ellen couldn’t finesse a rescue on the fly like some other hunters she knew, but she wasn’t going to listen to anyone tell her who she needed to leave behind.

_Fuck that._

Sam and Dean were on the back porch, where she’d sent them to wait for her as soon as the first aid on Eliot was done. “How is he?” Dean asked, coming immediately to his feet. Sam had already been standing, but he too looked genuinely concerned about Eliot’s well-being.

Ellen drew in a shaky breath, then exhaled softly. “Sleeping finally, thank God. He doesn’t like painkillers, but I convinced him to take a full dose.”

“Ellen,” Sam began, “we…”

Biting her lip against the threat of tears, Ellen shook her head. “Don’t,” she said finally, her voice strangled by the sudden tightness in her throat. “Just…don’t.” Swallowing hard, she brought herself back under control by sheer force of will. “I should kick both your asses for trying a stunt like that.”

“You really think we were going to stand around and do nothing? Sam protested. “Ellen, come on…”

“Sam – first of all, you attacked somebody holding a fucking machine gun. Have you lost what’s left of your mind?” Before either of them could react, Ellen rounded on Dean. “And you – boy, if I _ever_ hear you even hint about leaving family behind again, I swear I will end you.”

“Eliot set the rules,” Dean said, clearly refusing to be cowed by her temper this time. “And frankly, I’m not inclined to disagree with the man about putting your safety first.”

Ellen chuckled bitterly, still angry over the way things had turned out. “I will deal with Eliot’s white knight complex in due course. As far as you two are concerned, _that man is family to me_.” She pointed back towards the house. “And if you can’t accept that his life means as much to me as either of you boys or Jo, then we need to have an understanding right here and now.”

“You know what he is.” It wasn’t a question; Sam’s expression was incredulous. “You know what he is – you know that having him close _got_ you kidnapped…Ellen, maybe we’re not the ones who’re confused here?”

She was stunned briefly into silence, brain scrambling to process what Sam had said and what it meant. _What he is…what he is…Shit._ They knew about Eliot’s past. Maybe not as much as she did by now, but enough. “Fucking Ash,” she groaned. “That boy’s going to be cleaning my toilets until his third childhood rolls around. All right,” she went on, resigned to having the conversation she’d never wanted to have with any of them, “get it off your chests. Whatever you want to know – I’ll tell you if I can.”

She perched on the edge of the patio table, and folded her arms across her chest.

The boys exchanged looked – it was Dean who broke the silence. “Ash said you told him to do the background check?”

Ellen sighed. “Yes. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not some dewy eyed female who’s going to let a stranger in her bed without learning something about him.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth – but she’d decided weeks ago that it was as much as anyone was ever going to get out of her on the subject. 

It was only after she’d begun to realize that she liked having Eliot around that she’d set Ash to work. And while the things Ash had dug up had certainly given her a few sleepless nights, in the end Ellen had balanced them against her own instincts about the man who was settling into her life to make her peace with it.

“Why did you let him stay?” Sam asked. “Ellen, _one_ of the bounties on this guy’s head is more money than any of us is ever likely to see. This is a bad guy.”

Ellen glanced at the smooth wood of her porch, silently counting to ten. Sam meant well – both boys did – and it wasn’t anything she hadn’t considered herself. “Sam, do you really think any one of us would survive judgment on our records?” she asked finally. “How many counts of grave desecration can they hang on you boys by now? Suspicious deaths or disappearances?”

She was relieved to see Sam finally start to look chagrined. “Okay, point,” he conceded. “That’s still a hell of a lot of trust to put in some stranger who wandered into your bar one night.”

Ellen grinned wryly. “Now would that be the same stranger that stepped in and stopped you two boys from getting your heads taken off by Connor and Larry Jackson that night?” She glanced at Dean, and realized that – aside from his initial assertion that Eliot had done the right thing – he’d been uncharacteristically quiet.

“Do you love him?” he asked, before she could challenge his silence.

“Can’t tell you that,” she sighed.

Dean smiled at her. “Can’t or won’t?”

Ellen answered his smile with one of her own. “Can’t, because I haven’t stopped to think about what the answer might be. “ She waited, but Dean had lapsed into silence again. “Anything else?”

The older Winchester shook his head. “He was willing to risk everything for you, Ellen. You might want to consider at least telling him you were the one that told Ash to run the background check on him.” He paused, flashing her a knowing smile that was clearly intended to call her on her state of denial. “Since you haven’t stopped to think about whether you love him or not, you know.”


	3. Questions With No Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still set in the aftermath of Past Returning - during a bout of shared insomnia, Dean tries to give Eliot some perspective on his situation.

He’d known going in that insomnia was the likely result of his first night without painkillers, but Eliot had reached the point where he didn’t care. “This happens every time I get hurt,” he’d explained to Ellen as they got ready for bed that night. “I recover to a certain point, and then the dreams start coming back.” He was grateful when she didn’t push him to elaborate; Eliot needed a certain measure of control to be able to hold his nightmares at bay. Ellen had gotten a taste of that the night before, when he’d woken up in the middle of the night not knowing where he was.

Sam and Dean Winchester had extended their stay in the aftermath of Ellen’s kidnapping and Eliot’s subsequent injuries. Eliot was grateful for their help – especially since Jo was running into some difficulties making her way back from California – but the house was definitely starting to show the strain of too many bodies.

 _Be honest._ Bundling his robe more securely around him, Eliot went through the kitchen towards the back porch. _Your life is starting to show the strain of too many bodies._ Everything had happened so fast after Anton Marks had kidnapped Ellen that Eliot really hadn’t had a chance to process the fact that some of the new faces in his life knew who he was - _what_ he was.

And even more incredibly, they didn’t seem to care, so long as Ellen was safe and happy.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Dean Winchester was sitting on the back porch, his legs propped up on one of the other porch chairs, and a laptop resting across his thighs. Eliot saw a flash of naked flesh on the screen before Dean closed the computer with a small chuckle. “Easier than random hook-ups with strangers.”

“Good point,” Eliot said, leaning against the porch rail. “Although I’m probably not the best person to comment, under the circumstances,” he acknowledged.

Dean sobered slightly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.” Eliot shrugged. “Firmly at the point where I’m the world’s worst patient.”

The younger man snorted. “I could debate you on that title. Trust me. Sam _hates_ it when I get hurt.”

Eliot sobered when the subject of Dean’s brother came up. “Is he…do I need to talk to him?” Sam had been far less accepting of Eliot’s secrets than Dean had – but he’d put his prejudices firmly aside when it came time to rescue Ellen, recognizing that Eliot’s abilities were her best chance. He’d also been responsible for the bulk of the field surgery required in the aftermath, which meant that even though Eliot would have been happy to never have to talk to the kid again, he owed him more than he was ever likely to be able to repay.

Now it was Dean’s turn to shrug. “I’m not gonna tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. We’re only going to be around another couple of days at most – Sam’s not going to make trouble for you.”

“Why not?” Eliot knew he should have been grateful enough to leave it alone, but now that they were talking about it, he realized he was having problems shedding the image of Sam Winchester accusing him of being a danger to Ellen and everyone around him. “It’s not like things have changed, Dean – or like he was wrong.”

Dean chuckled, getting to his feet and stretching. “If it’s absolution you’re looking for Eliot, you’ve come to the wrong person. I’ve got enough problems worrying about my own life.”

This was somebody he could be friends with. The thought was incredible now that it had taken root in Eliot’s brain. “Wouldn’t mine your opinion,” he said. “If you’re okay with sharing?”

The hunter’s expression turned shrewd. He leaned against another section of the porch railing, his pose almost exactly mirroring Eliot’s. “My opinion,” he said, after a long moment of silence, “is that you two are so terrified of what you’ve got that you’re going to lose it or give it up, or some other noble type bit of sacrifice.” He held up a hand, cutting off Eliot’s protest. “Hear me out. We’ve all got secrets, man. Nature of who we are and what we do.” He sighed quietly. “You’ve got one foot out the door. I know you’ve got your reasons and I know they’re probably good ones, but you need to make a decision Eliot. Stay or go – nobody deserves the in-between crap. And if you’re going to stay, be honest with her. Take all the precautions you guys think you need to, and handle the rest as it comes.”

Pushing to his feet with a soft groan, he clapped Eliot on the shoulder. “And that’s my opinion, for what it’s worth.”

He’d reached the door to the kitchen when Eliot asked, “What if I’m honest with her, and she tells me to go?” _Like she should. Like any decent person would._

“Ellen’s tougher than you think,” Dean said – his expression deadly serious. “You won’t be disappointed.” Unexpectedly, a grin flashed across his face. “Besides – speaking as a totally objective observer? You two glow around each other. It’s fucking embarrassing to watch.”

Before Eliot could recover enough to continue the discussion, Dean disappeared inside. _Make a decision._ His reasons for going were sane and sensible ones. _And yet you keep coming up with reasons to stay._

By the time the sun was peeking over the horizon, he was still no closer to an answer.


	4. Next Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still set in the aftermath of Past Returning - a simple act of removing stitches stirs up so many other issues Eliot and Ellen aren't ready to face.

When they determined it was time to take her bandage off, Eliot insisted on being the one to do it. Ellen thought for half a second about arguing with him, but in the end sat where he told her and tried not to squirm.

Anticipating the look in his eyes was almost worse than the sick feeling of the adhesive peeling away from her skin. She’d used Sam and Dean being around to protect him from the full extent of what had happened at first, and Eliot had been too injured at the time to argue with her about it. _Now though…_ He’d seen the knife her kidnapper had held to her throat, and he’d seen the blood when she’d been cut – delaying this moment was only making things worse in his mind.

The last of the bandage was pulled away. “How’s it look?” she asked. Eliot’s fingertips – sensibly encased in latex gloves – lightly traced the length of the wound.

He made a soft, non-committal sound. “There’s a little bit of inflammation,” he said, pulling back and meeting her eyes, “but I think we can go ahead and take the stitches out.” He raised an eyebrow when she straightened her neck and groaned at the small ache that had developed at the base of her skull. “You sure you want to do this sitting up?”

Ellen massaged the back of her neck with one hand. “No…it’s good. I’m good.”

Grimacing slightly, Eliot stripped off his gloves and went around behind her. Ellen sighed in relief as his hands gently replaced hers, expertly massaging the muscles of her neck and shoulders. “You are one of the most stubborn people I have ever met, you know that?” he murmured, leaning in to plant a kiss on the back of her neck.

“You’re not the first person to say so,” she said; eyes drifting closed as she relaxed into his touch. “Comes from relying on myself for too long.” His hands hesitated, then resumed their soothing motion. Ellen heard the scraped of wood against the floor, then Eliot was pressed close around her back as he continued working her kinks out.

“I thought we were going to get the stitches out,” she noted, relaxing into him even further and letting him support more of her weight.

“In a minute,” he said. Gathering the heavy fall of her hair, he twisted it out of the way, then pressed his cheek against it to hold it in place while his hands resumed their movements on her skin.

Something was building in the stillness, as Ellen leaned on Eliot and felt her tensions and her worries slowly bleeding away. It wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t flirtatious or combative or fun…it was all of those things and more. It was deep and rich and real and so full of promise that her first instinct was to pull away; regain some of the safety emotional distance could provide.

“I’m not a child,” she said softly, eyes still closed. “My first love was a long time ago, Eliot.”

Strong arms slipped around her chest, hugging her close. “So was mine.”  
***********  
She’d almost died. Eliot had suspected the truth, but without the evidence to bolster his case he’d let himself be talked into staying – giving his body the time and space it needed to start healing his own wounds. They’d come back for him, even though he’d been very clear they weren’t supposed to, and he suspected he had the woman in his arms to thank for the fact that he was still breathing and relatively whole.

 _She almost died._ Eliot wondered if any of them had enough experience to understand that the cut had nicked Ellen’s carotid. First aid had been quick, and he certainly had no complaints about Sam’s needlework on the follow-up, but for the first time in a long time he couldn’t find any comfort in the fact they’d beaten the odds.

 _It shouldn’t have happened._ That was going to be on him. That was _always_ going to be on him.

Eliot sighed heavily, gathering himself to move again. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.” He grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and resumed his seat in front of her. “You’re sure you don’t want to lie down for this?” He froze for half a second while looking at her – there was still a peace about Ellen that he’d only ever seen glimpses of since coming into her life.

Luckily for both of them, the side of her he knew best was still very much in evidence. “Do you want me to do it myself?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Grinning he put one hand on her chin and positioned her head the way he wanted it. “Sheesh – try to show some consideration for a woman and get my head bitten off.” Their eyes met, and he mock-glared at her. “Hold still, you.”

She made a show of rolling her eyes at him, but did as he asked. The stitch removal process was tedious, but didn’t cause Eliot any difficulty. Without the black, crisscrossing lines, the spot of inflamed skin was actually smaller than he’d first assumed. Using gauze and rubbing alcohol, he cleaned the area as best he could; apologizing when she hissed in reaction to the sting.

“Looks good,” he said at last, pulling back again and stripping off the second pair of gloves. “You’re going to have a scar – no way round…” He’d started to get to his feet – intending to clean up the first aid supplies, when their eyes met again and whatever he’d intended to say died in his throat.

“Won’t be the first one,” she said; the sudden heat in her eyes leaving no doubt as to her intentions. Bracing himself on the chair, Eliot leaned in and kissed her. Ellen combed her fingers through his hair, twining her arms around the back of his neck as she arched up into him.

He could save the clean up until later, Eliot decided.

They could deal with everything later.


End file.
